


Formidable Marinade

by PacketofRedApples



Category: Ghost (Swedish Band)
Genre: F/M, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 11:24:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17140880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PacketofRedApples/pseuds/PacketofRedApples
Summary: There weren't many individuals that Papa Emeritus II tolerated only, so Mara being one of the exceptions to the rule was unbelievable. Despite how cryptic and unclear Papa would be about it, he was more than willing to prove it to her with his actions.





	Formidable Marinade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Letters_run_away](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Letters_run_away/gifts).



> Merry Crisis, my dear friend. 
> 
> Anyone else reading this-- sorry.

The cold December air was cruel with its bite. Clawing into the flesh of every member of the clergy as they stepped outside. Yet, inside the church, it was no better. Only in the studies and living quarters was it bearable. Gelum settled on one of the chairs in the library, shivering. Mara glanced at him before smirking and approaching the man, books that needed a little more love under her arm. The sister sat down across from him, pretending to not pay too much attention to the once preacher.

Courtesy had him do the same.

It is only when the deep sated quiet settles around them that as if showing them the go sign for conversation that they would feel comfortable enough to exchange a word or two. It used to be different, they used to talk for hours on end—good friends as they stood, but Papa had different intent for this specific sister of sin.

The way it started didn’t matter—it was the aftermath that left the impression.

“Well, regardless, Sister.” The man cut into the conversation they were having, pleasant surely, but not particularly stimulating. “Enough chit-chat. I was actually sent here to inform you that Papa Emeritus the Second would like to see you at his office.” Gelum stood from his chair, nodding his goodbyes and leaving the library in quick strides. He never had much of a stomach for what may lay for the poor Sisters that were called in by Papa II.

Mara sat there looking at the door for a couple seconds, with rapid bats of her lashes. Eventually, she shook her head and pushed the books away. The old grumpy bastard couldn’t bother to get her himself once more, but a part of her was more than curious to see why he needed her now. What more, she was looking forward to it.

The sister didn’t rush to the office whereas others usually would and even at one point so did she. Now, it was a different time. It was a different state of their relationship.

She entered the quarters, to see him sitting at his desk, a cigar hanging from his fingers. He was waiting.

“My dear, you don’t look happy to see me.” He notes and she rolls her eyes then steps deeper into the room, closing the door behind herself. Regardless, she doesn’t reply to him.

He rests his cigar on the ashtray, before standing up and approaching her slowly, running his gloved hands gingerly up her arms until they finally rest on her shoulders for a split second, then up her neck and lightly force her to face him.

“Il innamorato.”  He mutters in the inches between them, his breath smelling of expensive alcohol and smoke. “Tonight, I wish to undo my wrong-doings to you. I would like to provide you with everything until morning comes.”

“And what then? What when the sun comes up?”

“And then some more.” He adds, before moving in to kiss her.

Their lips lock and it’s passionate and rough. His tongue isn’t trying to seduce her; it is moving so to claim her as his own.  She melts against this, falling into him and their bodies pressing up against each other.

Papa leads her backward against his desk, where she sits down due to his push, papers underneath her. His hands trace her legs, before moving them to knot around his hips. They break the kiss, with Mara muttering a quick “Bastard” to which Emeritus simply smirks. One of the leader’s hands quickly moves on her lower back where he supports her until she lays down against the array of papers placed on the desk, thankfully the ashtray was far away enough.

“This isn’t exactly the epitome of romance, you know…” She whispers, slightly annoyed, but soon forgets this as the frontman kneels before her. The last she sees of him, he’s bearing eyes full of adoration.

The rest is more or less a blur, a night full of nothing more than an absolute definition of devotion, pure ecstasy and worship on the Papa’s behalf as he proved that he could, in fact, keep up with her much younger self.

There’s a memory of his forked tongue flicking against her more sensitive flesh until she couldn’t take much more of it. But that didn’t stop him. He would clean her up and then start anew. Driving her beyond the depth of the mad rabbit hole. Her whole body aching for his touch. Mara cried his name again and again, until eventually – he found this torture to be enough. And he stood from his kneeling position and undid his pants.

When he finally entered her she moaned out, crazed. Papa’s movements were timed specifically to be as slow as possible. She couldn’t handle it, her weakened legs using her full remaining power to make him stay in spot and rock harder. Mara prompted herself on her elbows, feeling as the Emeritus slid his hands up her sides to bring his beloved Sister of Sin to his level and manage her till he soon fell into a close by chair.

She rocked her hips into the older man until they both finally came, exhausted. Both sweaty and disheveled.  Mara breathed, resting her head in the crook of the other’s neck.

“Dear, look at me.” Papa says, well, cooing more so. Convincing her to do so. Coaxing her away from where she was resting. After several seconds, she looks at him, eyes half-lidded. He places his hand against her cheek, thumb tracing the features nearby.

“Convince me that you love me.” She says, clearly tired, but he merely smirks. As soon as she settles into a spot against his chest his smile fades. “You’re a real asshole.” Is the last thing she mutters before falling asleep.

The clock ticks away, putting a greater distance between them and this conversation, yet he stands up, picking her up and cradling her in his arms. Carrying her bridal style into his room, where he lays her into bed, kissing her on her forehead.

“Good night, my love.”


End file.
